Colin
by paperpotter
Summary: AU. Colin Creevey is still recovering from last year's horrifying experience of being petrified, and he hopes that this year will be more normal (Or as normal as Hogwarts can be.). However, that may be easier said than done, with a mass murderer on the loose, family secrets, and hidden truths.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it.

A/N: So, my first fanfic! This idea came to me after reading essays about the parallels between Colin and Peter (Colin as the next generation Peter), and later Peter as Colin's possible father. Hopefully, I can flesh out this intriguing concept more and give it my own twist. The misspelling of Ron's name is deliberate, and so are the exaggerations (ie. Colin's injuries).

**Azkaban Prison, 1993, The Cell of One Sirius Black**

"**The Chamber of Secrets, Written by Rita Skeeter**

** Our beautiful reporter, approximately forty two years of age, is here once again to bring to you shocking news! Rumor has it that the infamous Chamber of Secrets was opened last year at Hogwarts—and by You-Know-Who himself! Of course, this may be pure speculation, as the information was leaked by one Albus Dumbledore, who we all know is getting a little old and touched in the head. However, some facts are undisputable: The Chamber of Secrets was indeed opened, and Ginevra Weasley, aged twelve, was taken down into it. The-Boy-Who-Lived proceeded to rescue her with Rupert Weasley and Gilderoy Lockhart. What is even more intriguing, though, are the tales of the petrified victims. (Turn to page 4 for more!)"**

Sirius Black snorted at the "article", as some would call it. Rita Skeeter was a nosy cow who had once come to Hogwarts for "news". In reality, she had gotten quotes from dear Cissy and Snivelly about how the Marauders wreaked havoc and deserved to be expelled. A Slytherin if he ever saw one. This was a load of rubbish. The only reason he was reading it was because of its brief mention of Harry. He hoped that it really was just gossip mixed with a few prominent names; he hated to think of his godson being in danger. He turned to page four in hopes that it would give him more information on the safety of Harry and his possible friends.

"…**.Colin Creevey was one of the youngest petrified victims, at barely twelve years of age—the same as our darling Ginevra. According to a reliable source, Colin was found with a burnt camera, and he himself was also badly charred by the monster. Madame Pomfrey, our reliable matron, was fortunately able to save both his camera and his skin. He is a Muggle-born, and he lives with his parents Jennifer and David Creevey, and also his brother Dennis. Our next victim is…"**

Sirius stared at the paper. The name sounded familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before.

"_When I get older, I'm going to name my son Colin! Great name, isn't it?"_

Peter. It came to him instantly. Peter had always adored that name—but it was a coincidence, surely. And Jennifer. Peter's Muggle girlfriend, who had been quite beautiful, with long curly hair and laughing eyes. There was also a photo of the child underneath—he had mousy brown hair, and was carrying a bulky camera. But this child was Muggle-born, not a child of a traitor. The eyes were watery-blue, though, and the camera—so much like the one Peter had carried around, using it to take snapshots of James in various poses. He peered closely at the picture, and suddenly, he saw it. P.A.P. The traitor's initials, the ones he had spent a day carving out. He could still remember Peter bursting in to interrupt their game of Exploding Snap, cheeks flushed and so happy. After all, his family had never been rich, and he could finally call this camera that he had spent months saving up for his own.

"_Padfoot! Prongs! Look what I've done! Isn't it great?"_

And they had brushed Peter off, called him an idiot for getting so worked up over a small thing. Peter had practically wilted before their eyes, and mumbled that he was sorry for interrupting their oh-so-important game. He sighed. They probably should have been nicer to him; maybe they wouldn't be in this situation—Peter a traitor, him framed and in Azkaban, Remus alone, and James dead.

As he flipped yet another page, something caught his eye. It wasn't anything particularly important—a picture and short description of some bribe (ahem, prize) they had given to some poor Ministry employee who he vaguely recognized as Arthur Weasley. The family seemed to be somewhere in Egypt—all of them grinning and looking quite surprised to have such good fortune. It was the rat sitting on the gangly boy's shoulder, though, that made him do a double take. Its tail was long (almost like a worm's), and was missing a _toe._ He reread the article, more carefully this time.

"…_All the Weasleys are in Gryffindor…The youngest boy is twelve…same year as Harry…Colin is Peter's son…Save them…save them both…Wormtail…Padfoot…Dementors are blind…Animagus…Meals…Slip out between the bars…Remus is alone…James…Harry…Colin and Harry…Gryffindor…"_

One week later, Sirius Black's picture was in the Daily Prophet, along with a headline that read **Infamous Mass Murderer Escaped! Heard Muttering in Sleep!**

A/N: So, how was it? This is blatantly AU, of course. I live on feedback!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff. This universe was created by J. K. Rowling.

A/N: A few notes for this chapter: Colin's personality is somewhat based on Colin Singleton's from _An Abundance of Katherines. _Some aspects of him are also based on a boy I know from school—let's call him S—who's a genius, but has close to no social skills. Happy reading!

**The Creevey House, Devon, England**

"We have to tell him someday!"

"Please, Jenny. He's too young. He shouldn't have to cope with this—what with the almost dying last year. God knows how much danger he'll be in this year."

He could almost see his mother chewing on her thumbnail. "Dave, he's twelve. And didn't that woman say that Hogwarts was perfectly safe? He has to know, or else he'll find out himself. He'll notice things; how he doesn't look like us or is so—so _different. _Or one of his housemates—is that what he calls them?—will bring in a book about how babies are made or something, and he'll ask why we don't have pictures of his birth, but we have a whole _album_ of Dennis! Please, Dave. I want him to know."

His father's resolve was weakening. No one ever lost an argument to his mother. "Jenny, fine. I'll talk to him, but don't blame me if he decides to run away from home."

What could possibly be so bad that he would want to leave home? Were they pulling him out of Hogwarts? He would be upset, of course, but he would understand his parents' reasoning. And babies? Personally, he wanted another sibling. So far, Dennis hadn't been very interesting as a little brother. All he wanted to do was become a milkman like their father, and marry Susie Collins, a pretty girl with golden hair. Maybe a sister would be a nice change in his life.

He could hear his father's footsteps on the stairs now. _Thump, thump, thump. _He isn't scared. Not really. Hogwarts was wonderful, but he should have known that he couldn't have it forever. No, it was like that old saying; nothing gold can stay. But oh, how he would miss it. The seemingly endless halls, Quidditch (though he had only gone to one flying lesson, and a disastrous one at that), his classes (excluding Potions), and magic everywhere, so much of it, so different from his dull home.

The door opened, and he braced himself, all the while keeping his head down, as if to say "_Please, please leave me alone so I can dream that I'm going back to Hogwarts in September. Please. Let me have my fantasy."_

Of course, that didn't happen. Instead, his father sat down gingerly onto his bed, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Colin," he said. "Colin, please look at me. I have something to tell you."

_Goawaygoawaygoaway._

"Colin, please."

Reluctantly, he looked up.

"Colin, I really don't want to say this, but—you aren't my son."

_ What? _Is he being _disowned? _His father is a rather open minded person, and he didn't think that he being a wizard would make a difference. His mind spins into overdrive, and he begins to think of possible scenarios; a) he runs away forever and ever and ever, and finally ends up in some dingy prison living on rats, b) he tries to run away and for some reason decides to come back, by which it is too late and his father is dead and Dennis has joined a cult (quite unlikely, but one never knows), c) he goes to the home of Harry Potter, although he has no idea where it is located, and convinces Harry to let him stay there for a while (even though he is sure that Harry sees him as nothing more but his possibly well-meaning stalker of sorts), or d) he runs away to Hogwarts (never mind that it is probably invisible and located more than a thousand kilometers away), and he is fed by the house elves and lives in the Astronomy tower so that he can see the stars every night. He entertains these imaginings for a few moments until his father's voice snaps him out of his (quite distressing) thoughts.

"Colin? Are you alright?" It is at that moment that his father realizes what he said and the implications of it.

"Colin, I don't mean it that way. Of course you're my son! I mean in the literal sense—oh, you probably don't understand this at all, do you." He says it as if accusing him of something, though he is sure his father does not mean it that way. He never does. It is simply the fact that he is not what his father would have wanted in a child. He is not athletic, nor particularly talented (except for photography, which his father considers a waste of time), attractive, or anything else. Instead, he is a genius who does not understand, a wizard that cannot do magic (except for the Freezing Charm, and what use is that?).

It seems as if his father has finally decided to say it. "Colin, I am not your father. In a sense, you are adopted."

Adopted? That cannot be. Hasn't everyone told him how he has his mother's hair, so curly and handsome—no one has ever told him how much he looks like his father. Finally, he understands.

He feels his father's weight finally leave his bed, and he can hear the bedsprings sigh, as if finally being released from a punishment.

"Maybe your mother can explain this better," he hears him say, but everything is almost dimmed around him. Once, when he was six, he went swimming, and somehow he was _sinking sinking sinking, _and everything was blurry and muffled, until the coach pulled him up and gave him a cup to spit out the water that he had choked on. He wishes for the coach now.

His mother is here, finally. She always understands.

"Colin?" Her voice is soft; even the way she says his name is different from his father. His is harsh, reprimanding, while she is always gentle and kind. "I'm sorry, but you needed to know. Your father still loves you, of course, even if you aren't his biological son."

He wants to tell her that it's fine, that he really doesn't care all that much, but instead what comes out of his mouth is: "Can you tell me about my father? I mean, my real one?"

He hears her sigh, and she begins. "He had your eyes, you know. That watery blue. So wonderful. I met him at a park when I was fifteen, out walking Pepsi—you remember her, don't you?"

He nods. He's seen Pepsi in pictures, a cute little cocker spaniel, and a bundle of energy. Now, though, all he wants is for his mother to continue the story, and she seems to realize this.

"He was with three friends, I think. One had the worst hair I had ever seen, and glasses. He was always ruffling his hair, as if it wasn't messy enough already!" Her laugh tinkles, and is almost musical. "There was a tall one, too; brown hair and a scar running down the side of his face. Oh, and there was one who looked almost like a prince—dark hair and silver eyes, almost beautiful. But your father stood out to me. He was shorter and his hair was mousy, but for all I knew, he could have been a movie star. He only came every summer; he went to some boarding school. Those summers were wonderful, though. I loved him, loved him with all my heart, and he bought me chocolate and picked me flowers. It was just like a film, and it was almost surreal. Everyone was jealous of me." She sighs again, and he knows that she is reminiscing, transported back to a time when she was a young girl and had no worries.

"What happened next?" He asks.

"Well, it started falling apart. He accused me of being in love with the beautiful boy, though we all knew he only had eyes for the one with the scars. Our fights became more frequent, and one day, he just left. I cried for a week, you know. Went through at least ten boxes of chocolate. It's a miracle that I found your father when I did. He was wonderful, too, just not in the same way. I found out about you some time later. Don't ever think that I didn't want you, Colin. You were a miracle, just not one I was expecting. Colin was your father's favorite name."

"What happened to him?"

"He didn't get a happy ending, unfortunately. There was a gas explosion, and well—"

He knows that she is upset now, but he needs to know more. It isn't want; this is need in its purest form. He needs to know about his father, the real one, the one he never got a chance to meet. "What was his name?"

"Peter. Peter Pettigrew."

A/N: Er…was that okay? I didn't have time to update during the week. Anyway, I couldn't resist throwing in a little Remus/Sirius. Review, follow, favorite?


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own this. 'Nuff said.

A/N: Strangely enough, I actually like the character of Devdas. I imagine him as an awkward boy with huge glasses and a severely inflated ego.

"You know, I always did suspect you were adopted. After all, you don't look anything like Mr. Creevey. At all." Devdas, Colin's best friend said. They were at Devdas' house, which was just too big to be uncomfortable—a bit like Devdas, actually, he thought to himself. Instantly, he regretted it. It wasn't as if Devdas was trying to be annoying, after all—it was just the way he worked. Every one of Devdas' strange mannerisms was rubbing him the wrong way today, though; the way he always sounded so smug and sure of himself, how he was always pushing up his glasses and rubbing his nose, and for some reason, the way he ate his carrot sticks.

Actually, he hadn't wanted to come to Devdas' house today, best friend or not. Unfortunately, his parents had wanted him to get out of the house more, and as much as it pained him to admit it, Devdas was his only friend. They had found each other not by chance or common interest, but more by need. Colin was an outcast because of his severe lack of social skills, and Devdas—well, he was just _annoying_, never mind that he was an actual genius, unlike him, who could at most be called a child prodigy. Despite what parents would tell their children, kids are crueler than adults could ever hope to be, and unless they both wanted to be doomed to a lifetime of loneliness, their only choice was to befriend each other (Actually, Colin had done a research paper on the need for human companionship in third grade, and it was quite good, if he did say so himself.).

Devdas wasn't the worst friend in the world, of course, so Colin stuck with him. Sometimes, he also had good ideas—such as now.

"Haven't you tried to find this Peter guy?" Devdas asked. "It isn't as if he disappeared off the face of the earth; didn't your mum say something about a gas explosion?"

"Gas leak," he says absentmindedly. It was so _obvious_; a huge accident like that wouldn't have gone unnoticed, and at the very least there should have been an obituary in the newspaper. "Do you have any newspapers from around ten years ago?" He instantly regrets the words once they are out of his mouth.

Surprisingly, Devdas nods. "There are quite a lot of interesting articles in old newspapers. Today's are always so boring."

Colin tries to listen as Devdas drones on and on, hoping for him to finally acknowledge his presence. Finally, after about an hour, he asks Devdas ask him what year he needs.

"Uh, everything from 1981 to 82," he replies. He must have dozed off again, because suddenly Devdas is standing in front of him, holding a huge pile of newspapers that is at least two feet high. _Almost like a servant_, he thinks snarkily. _Fitting of his name. _Once again, he feels bad, because Devdas is actually trying to be helpful for once instead of listing all his accomplishments.

They sit in near silence for a while, sorting through the millions of articles that Devdas has brought him. Occasionally, Devdas will read a little bit from one newspaper, and Colin will shake his head or mouth _"No"._ He finds a Peter Harrison, Petey Thomas, and even a Peter Potter, but no Peter Pettigrew.

"Here's one—wait, no, it's about some kid named Harry Potter who's house burned down," Devdas announces. "Bo-ring."  
><em>What? Harry Potter; his role model who actually acts like a Gryffindor is supposed to?<em>

"Let me see that," he orders, and Devdas tosses the aforementioned article to him.

"Not too much to see," Devdas warns him. "Just some ash and dust particles, with a side of wood and rocks."

Colin quickly scans the article, picking out the words _tragic fire_, _alive baby boy, _and _strangely unmarked bodies. _Really, it's everything he read about in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. _

"See?" Devdas says smugly. "Nothing. Luckily for you, I actually found some information pertaining to your unfortunate situation. Look."  
>Sure enough, <em>Peter Pettigrew <em>is the first thing he spots, under the headline **Twelve Killed in Horrific Gas Leak**. The story focuses more on the death of a man named Jonathon Whinging (who apparently is the great-great-great grandson of a man who founded the town of Little Whinging), but there are two sentences about Pettigrew—_his father, _Colin reminds himself. _Mr. Peter Pettigrew, another unfortunate victim, is survived by his mother and two sisters. Their names have not been given for the sake of their privacy. _

His father had a family once. Colin hadn't even thought of that. Maybe Peter had once been a boy like him, a boy who was never good enough for anyone. Maybe he had a friend like Devdas, who was irritating at times, but Peter was friends with anyway. Peter Pettigrew wasn't just some character in a story who happened to be Colin's father; he was _real. _

"Thanks," he says quietly. "I think I should go."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Colin spent the next few days poring over every piece of information that might have any sort of relation to his father. Thankfully, his mother hadn't forced him outside again, due to her concerns about an escaped criminal with a weapon. Of course, he had other things to do as well. There was an essay about the formula for a perfect transfiguration (which he would normally be good at, but this is a different type of math, one with less rules and more magic), a summary of the uses of levitation charms, and a particularly nasty essay for Professor Snape about the twelve uses of dragon's blood, with three inches of parchment for each use.

_The twelve uses of dragon's blood include healing properties, oven cleaner, spot remover, ink (although not the most practical use), channeling one's magic, and a potion strengthener. The first known use of dragon's blood—ink—was found by a strange peasant named Brutus Rusticus, who came across a rotting carcass, and promptly took blood from it (his reasons for writing with it are unknown). Although Brutus did not know what the blood was, a man who was a close friend of him, Sir Humphrey the Wise, took this information to the Wizard's Council, who then credited him with this discovery. However, it was not until Albus Dumbledore that it was revealed that the discovery was not in fact found by a rich and noble wizard, but instead a mere muggle. For this reason, this use is usually attributed to Dumbledore, as are the other eleven. _

_ The second use, potion strengthener, was "discovered" by Nicholas Flamel and his partner, Albus Dumbledore, though dragon's blood had in fact been used in potions since the Black Plague, or as known to wizards, the Age of Blacke Magics. One famous potioneer who frequently used dragon's blood in his potions was __Peter Pettigrew__. _

Colin frantically scrubbed at the mark. He hated making mistakes on parchment. For one thing, unlike pencils, erasers didn't work, and he also wasn't allowed to use magic, like he had at Hogwarts. He was already having a hard enough time with this paper; while _Hogwarts, A History _was informative, it also contradicted itself at least ten times each chapter. One sentence had said that Dumbledore discovered all twelve uses of dragon's blood, while another claimed that Ivor Dillonsby's ideas had been stolen by Dumbledore. At this rate, he would be lucky to get even a foot of parchment. Sighing, he started writing again.

_One famous potioneer who frequently used the blood of the Chinese Fireball in his potions was Peter Indoles, who revolutionized the art of potion-making in the 1880s, now known as the Gilded Age, in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. Another virtuoso, Father __Peter Pettigrew_

Again! He threw down his quill, which proved to be a bad decision, as it dripped ink all over his table, and stained the corner of his essay. He would definitely have to write it again afterwards.

_Another virtuoso, Father Paul, used the Hungarian Horntail's blood, claiming that it was thinner than the Fireball's, and gave more taste to the potion. Although much of this was his own opinion, there is no doubt that the Horntail's blood sped up the healing process. Later on, the Father's work was continued on by his nephew __Peter Pettigrew__Peter Pettigrew__Peter Pettigrew_

Finally, Colin gave up. Maybe he could research today, and write the paper tomorrow. He wasn't a fan of procrastination, but he wasn't exactly making any progress now. He flipped through the pages of _Hogwarts, A History, _wishing that it contained a table of contents, or at the very least an index. He supposed he was lucky that Madame Pince had liked him enough to let him borrow a copy from the library for the summer; he would have been in even more trouble if she hadn't.

He flipped through the pages of the book at random, stopping every few chapters to scan through the pages.

_Gilg the Gory was a smart, brutal—_

Flip.

_The first fairy rings were not in fact made by common woodland fairies/pixies, but wizards who thought of muggle-baiting as a sport and enjoyed making the muggles look foolish and—_

Flip again, though the fairy ring fact was quite interesting. Those fairy tales weren't so innocent now.

_Minister Millicent Bagnold proclaimed after Voldemort's defeat that "I assert our inalienable right to party." _

Flip yet again. This Bagnold person didn't sound too bad.

_The graduating class of 1978 included James Potter and Lily Evans, the parents of The-Boy-Who-Lived. The full list of the class, disregarding houses, is as follows: Avery, Brutus; Bertram, Aubrey; Black, Sirius; Evans, Lily; Fawley, Julian; Harrison, Madeline; Ingleston, Veronica; Jones, Timothy; Lewis, Paul; Lupin, Remus; Leslie, Gemma*; MacDonald, Mary; Mulciber, Luke; Newfeather, Nigel; Odgen, Charles; Pettigrew, Peter; Potter, James—_

Wait. What? He read the passage again, making sure he hadn't seen the name out of wishful thinking. No, it was as clear as day; _Pettigrew, Peter_, in between _Odgen, Charles, _and _Potter, James. _

_Don't think about it, _he chastised himself. _Peter's a common name. And Pettigrew—well, there are about sixty million people in Great Britain. There have got to be lots of people with that name. _Try as he might, though, he couldn't convince himself that he was wrong.

His father had been a _wizard. _

*Gemma T. Leslie is the equivalent of J.K. Rowling in _Fangirl, _by Rainbow Rowell. The book is about a girl named Cath, who basically fangirls over a series about a character named Simon Snow (Harry's counterpart). Oh, and she writes Harry/Draco slash—ahem, Simon/Baz. Anyway, read the book!

A/N: So, not too bad? I'm really sorry for not posting earlier, but I'll try to post this Sunday. Feedback?


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, Diagon Alley, etc.

A/N: I absolutely love Diagon Alley in all the Harry Potter books, so that was my inspiration for this chapter. Some descriptions are based off of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone_, and the _Prisoner of Azkaban._

_If New York City is considered the center of the muggle world, then what is Diagon Alley? _Colin mused to himself as he strode through the wide—well, alley. He had begged to come alone this year; last time, his mother had insisted on looking at every piece of merchandise before buying it, while his father had been generally mistrustful of everyone they met (Except for Professor McGonagall. Privately, he suspected that she had cast a charm on him.). After quite a lot of arguing, his mother had agreed that he could go buy his supplies alone—provided that he brought Dennis with him.

Colin was actually very fond of his little brother, but Dennis could just be such a _pain. _He understood the need of a role model—after all, hadn't he followed Harry Potter around for the better part of last year (But how could he be expected to restrain himself, when there was a _real live celebrity _in front of him)? Colin couldn't see how he himself was interesting, though. His only real accomplishment was his photography, and most of his photos had been destroyed during his unfortunate petrification last year (it pained him to remember that all his photos of Harry were gone forever, and he doubted Harry would let him take any more this year).

Really, Dennis should look up to Prince Charles or someone, someone who was famous instead of some nobody who didn't even know who his father was.

Dennis' voice startles Colin out of his thoughts. "Col, Col, what's that?!" Somehow, Dennis manages to make a question sound exclamatory.

"It's a hag, Dennis, keep moving. They eat little children, according to Professor Binns."

Colin instantly regrets saying this, as Dennis squeals and hides behind him, grabbing onto Colin's jacket so hard that he almost ends up choking.

"Stop, Dennis, stop, I was just joking!" he manages to wheeze out.

"Sorry," Dennis mutters, and once again trails two steps behind Colin. Somehow, Dennis seems to find everything amazing, and slows them down to the point that Colin will be glad if he can get _one _textbook before the day is done (which is a pity, since he really was looking forward to reading _The Standard Book Of Spells, Grade Two_, in hopes that he'll somehow learn to transfigure a desk into a pig like McGonagall did at the beginning of last year).

_Finally, _they go into Madame Malkin's, where the Madame herself announces that he's grown four inches since last year, but he needs new robes anyway, and oh, isn't this four hundred galleon gold-trimmed robe perfect? Colin shakes his head, and buys the cheapest options available (which still cost ten galleons, and he has to dig into his pocket to find them). Surprisingly, Dennis is quiet here, although it isn't until Colin tells him that they're leaving that he notices why.

Dennis is gone. Quickly, Colin tells Madame Malkin that he needs to go, and she reluctantly lets him with a cheery "Come back soon!"

He runs out into the street and yells "Dennis, Dennis!" He knows he must look like a fool, especially when he accidently stumbles and knocks a wizard (which he will later learn is Lucius Malfoy to the ground). He feels foolish, too, especially when the aforementioned wizard swears at him and calls him a "Filthy Mudblood".

He ignore it, because Dennis is _gone. _He's read the tale of Perry Puerson, a muggle boy who somehow got into Knockturn Alley and was subsequently killed by some dark wizard. Truthfully, he believes that it is a cautionary story, like _The Boy Who Cried Wolf, _but all stories have some grain of truth to them. And if Dennis has somehow been killed by that mass murderer with a weapon that's always on the news these days—well, it's safe to say that he doesn't think he can live after that.

He darts in each store he comes across, asking if anyone has seen a short boy with brown hair, who is probably destroying the contents of the shop. Every time, the answer is no. Finally, a kind witch with dark hair tells him to look in Ollivander's, since "children seem to find its dark atmosphere fascinating".

Colin really doubts that Dennis would be drawn to a shop resembling a haunted house, but he thanks the woman for her help anyway and walks—no, runs—to Ollivander's. Somehow, it seems even creepier than it did last year when he was there.

"Dennis? Hello? Anyone?" He calls. His voice bounces off the walls, and he shivers. The temperature has seemingly dropped ten degrees, and Colin really wishes that he'd brought a jacket. There are shadows everywhere, and he can't tell if they are of the boxes of wands stacked on top of each other or invisible dark creatures (which he is fairly sure don't exist, but he's not taking any chances).

"Do you require any assistance?" A quiet voice startles him out of his panicked thoughts, and manages to make him jump about a foot.

"No, no," he manages to stammer out. He guesses that the voice belongs to Ollivander himself (the current one, anyway), but the room is too dark for him to be sure.

"Ah, Colin Creevey, am I correct?"

Once again, he is both surprised and not by Ollivander's knowledge. He suspects that he must have some sort of talent for mind reading—_Legilimency, _he reminds himself—just like Dumbledore and Snape.

"Your wand is twelve and a half inches, hazel, unicorn tail hair for the core?"

Colin nods in the affirmative, and the old wandmaker sighs.

"Yes, quite flexible, if I remember correctly. Good for Charms. Not one of the strongest ones I've ever made, but certainly fitting for your personality."

The statement stings for some reason, even though he is sure that the man does not mean it as an insult. Ollivander seems to realize this, as he quickly changes the subject.

"Are you looking for someone? Perhaps a young sir, resembles you?" Colin's heart leaps in joy. Dennis has been found! He still has time to go to Flourish and Blotts! In about five minutes, he'll be out of this creepy shop!

Ollivander beckons for him to come, and Colin follows. The old man opens a door, which creaks and sighs from disuse, and leads to a large storeroom.

"This boy somehow found the back entrance! I'll tell you, it took Dumbledore twelve visits to find it, and this young lad—well, he comes in and says that I should probably start locking that door so intruders like him don't find their way in." To Colin's disbelief, Ollivander is _chuckling. _

Suddenly, Colin spots Dennis, and manages to restrain himself from simultaneously hugging and strangling him.

"Don't you ever do that again!" He scolds Dennis, and Dennis pouts.

"But that store was so boring!" He protests. "I mean, _robes_," He snorts disdainfully.

Colin has to agree with that, but he is still determined to be mad at Dennis.

"Anyway," Dennis continues, "Mr. Ollivander's shop is so much fun! I mean, look!" Dennis picks up a wand at random, and before Colin can warn him not to, he gives it a huge wave.

Surprisingly, a stream of what looks like stars flows out, and Dennis laughs happily.

"Col, look! I feel just like a real wizard!"

Colin's brain chooses this moment to remember something Professor Flitwick told the class the first day of school.

_"You all bought wands at Ollivander's, correct?" There were nods from the majority of the class, with a few scattered Yes's. _

_ "Good, good." The professor said. "Although many other wandmakers are also good—Gregorovitch, for one, is quite talented, although his wands are too temperamental for my liking—Ollivander's wands are almost always suited to their owner's needs. I feel that I should clarify something, however; wands do not make one magic. They are simply a way to channel your magic and stabilize it. If you handed a wand to a muggle, nothing would happen—unless the "muggle" was actually a witch or wizard."_

Dennis possesses magic. The realization hits him like a train, even more so than the one that his father was a wizard (he is an unknown, but Dennis certainly is not). Dennis will one day join him at Hogwarts and learn how to control his magic. He will get detentions from Snape and be sorted by the hat. He will be a wizard, one who will do so much more than Colin can.

Colin feels a pang of jealousy, though he knows he should be happy for Dennis. But it's _not fair, _not fair how Dennis has always known where he came from, has real honest-to-god friends that understands him, and he can't even let Colin enjoy being a wizard by himself. Still, he swallows down his sadness and anger, and manages to choke out a "That's great, Den."

"It is, isn't it?" Dennis beams up at him, and Colin can't help but smile back. _This is why I need my little brother, _he thinks to himself.

Dennis insists on going to the Magical Menagerie next, and Colin gives in out of guilt for his previous jealousy (even if it went unsaid). This shop is definitely different than Ollivander's, though Colin can't say if it is better or worse. The noise level is practically deafening, and the store is so cramped they can hardly move. Even so, Dennis happily chatters with the other customers about cats and toads and owls, even though he knows practically nothing about all three of these subjects.

Colin ends up having to buy a Puffskein, which are admittedly cute, but he has to fork out four galleons for it (which is overpriced, in his opinion, for such a small pet), and he's not sure if he has enough money to pay for all his books. The Puffskein mostly ignores him, but somehow develops an attraction to Dennis, who announces that its name is now Sodapop, after a character in _The Outsiders, _which Dennis finished reading a week ago (Colin doesn't mention that Sodapop is a boy and not a furry creature covered with hair).

When they are done with all of this, Colin needs to go to the Apothecary to replenish his potions supplies; somehow, he has managed to lose and destroy most of last year's. Dennis is mostly focused on playing with Sodapop, so this trip goes quickly. Thankfully, there is still enough time to get to Flourish and Blotts to buy his spellbooks.

Colin can only be grateful that he only has to buy two books his year instead of fourteen. He only has eight galleons, 6 sickles, and 4 knuts left, and after buying _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two _and _The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts, _he doesn't even have enough money to buy an ice cream (and he was really looking forward to one, too; he wishes that he'd had the foresight to try the strawberry-peanut butter ice cream). Still, books are always good.

All too soon, it is time to leave—Dennis is becoming impatient, as it seems that not even Sodapop can engage his interest for longer than an hour. _Today was a good day, _Colin reflects. Still, he can't shake off the feeling that bad things are to come.

A/N: The _Outsiders _reference is mainly there because it's the assigned reading for my school (I know, I know), and Sodapop is quite possibly my favorite character in it; somehow, he reminds me of Sirius. Feedback?


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. If I did, do you think I would be writing fanfiction about the characters?

A/N: This is where the story really starts, and you can begin to see some of _The Prisoner of Azkaban. _I hope I've done justice to the Dementors and the description of Platform 9 and ¾. There is minor bullying and teasing in this chapter, and the views expressed in it are not my own. Also, not really relevant to the story, but there is a movie called _Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day _on Netflix. Hmm…

Platform 9 and ¾ seems even more crowded than last year, at least in Colin's opinion. There is a long line waiting to cross the barrier; apparently, Harry Potter is being escorted onto the train by guards from the Ministry. He knows how strange his family must look to the muggles—Dennis is carrying Sodapop, who has curled up into a ball and doesn't seem to mind being dropped every few minutes, Colin's father is muttering to himself about "damn crowds", and they are seemingly waiting to lean against a _wall, _of all things. He doesn't feel embarrassed, though; perhaps it is the exhilaration of going to Hogwarts again.

Finally, the people in front of them (a family with four girls who are hugging each other and crying) go through, and it's their turn. He looks around, making sure no one is looking, and runs into the wall a moment later. It is exactly as it was last year; he waits for of his body to hit the wall, but instead there is only a whoosh of air. To him, it is like saying, _look at me, world. I am invincible. _Of course, a second later Dennis slams into him, and he doubles over in pain from the impact.

When it is almost time for Colin to leave, Dennis hugs him tightly.

"Do you really have to go?" he whispers.

"I do," Colin replies. "I have to go back to Hogwarts."

"Why?" Dennis asks again. "You can stay here with me."

Colin sighs. He knew this would happen, just as it did last year. Dennis would beg and plead for him to stay, and when Colin couldn't, he would start to cry.

"Dennis, I'll tell you a secret. One day, not so far away, you'll get to go to Hogwarts, too, and we can have adventures together." He doesn't bother to mention that he would be called a baby if he hung around first years (never mind that everyone was once one).

"Really?" Dennis' eyes are shining, and not with tears.

"Really," he says. "I promise." Then, the train whistle blows, and his mother tells him that he'll miss the train if they don't hurry up. His father gives him a stiff hug and tells him to not cause any trouble, and his mother pecks him on the cheek. The whistle blows again, and Colin has to run to get onto the train before it leaves.

Most of the compartments are full already, but he manages to find one with Michael Brauer, a fellow Gryffindor. He doesn't know Michael very well, but nonetheless, gives him a weak smile, which Michael returns. They sit in silence for a while, Colin fidgeting in his seat, wondering if he should say something to fill the silence. Michael doesn't seem to be having the same problem, as he is fully engrossed in a Quidditch magazine.

Right when he is about to finally ask Michael about his summer, the compartment door slams open, and Colin breathes a sigh of relief. It is Jack and Seth, Michael's best friends, and his—well, acquaintances.

"Mikey!" Seth cries. "We spent hours looking for you!" Colin's presence is ignored, of course.

"You do know that the train only started about ten minutes ago, right?" Michael says, but his eyes are dancing, and he puts down the magazine.

"Yeah, yeah," Seth says dismissively. "Creevey! Didn't notice you there!"

_Yeah. No one ever does. _

"How are you? Recovered from last year's incident?" Jack and Seth laugh, though Colin can't see why.

"Really, Colin, are you all right?" Michael asks him, looking concerned.

"It's fine. Really, I'm over it." Michael still looks worried, but doesn't speak again.

"Great, Creevey. Hey, is your hair even longer?" Jack asks incredulously. "It's almost down to your shoulders!"

Colin touches his hair self-consciously. It has gotten longer, he realizes. Usually, he gets it cut in August, but this year, he was occupied with learning about his father and didn't really have time (well, he did, but he used it for better things). At the end of last year, Blaise Zabini had hit him with a hair-growth jinx; Madame Pomfrey fixed most of the damage, but she seems to have left his head alone.

"Er…yeah?" He replies.

"Huh. Makes you look a bit like a girl." Jack says.

"Yeah," Sean agrees. "It's all curly and well, poofy. You look like my queer cousin Danny."

_Queer? _He knows what the word means, of course, but it has never been applied to him. He knows that he isn't the most—well, masculine of boys, but he's never been called _that. _

"Speaking of queer, what was that with you following Potter around all last term?" Jack asks. "I mean, I know he's famous, but that was a little over the top, wasn't it? You took pictures of him every second."

"That was strange," Seth agrees. "It was like you were his personal stalker. You were like, in love with him." Jack and Seth are laughing now, but Colin doesn't get the joke, as always.

"Colin and Potter, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Jack mimics, in a high pitched voice that sounds nowhere like his own. The laughter is even louder now, though Michael looks worried. Colin wants to crawl up in a hole and die—well, perhaps not die, but stay hidden until everyone leaves.

"Guys, stop," Michael orders. "Can't you see that Colin's upset?" If possible, Colin's cheeks turn even redder. He knows that Michael means well, but he would have rather waited for Jack and Sean to move on to another topic and forget about this one.

"Creevey, you know we didn't mean it," Seth says, looking apologetic.

"I know," he mumbles. Luckily for Colin, the snack cart rolls by their compartment at that moment, and Jack stands up.

"So!" Jack says faux-cheerfully. "Who wants some chocolate frogs?" Seth and Michael nod, and Jack looks pointedly towards Colin, as if he wants to make up for his previous remarks.

"Er, I don't really like chocolate frogs very much," He replies. "I'll take a box of Bertie Bott's, please." The words sound stiff and coming from his mouth, and Jack seems to realize this, as he gets out of the compartment as fast as he can.

"So, did you hear about Black?" Seth asks. It takes Colin a few moments to realize that Seth is talking to him, and not Michael.

"You mean the murderer who was on the Muggle news?" he asks.

Seth rolls his eyes. "No, the Black who sells puppies at the pet store. Yes, that Black! What else do you know about him?"

"Um, he's armed? And he has a gun?"

"A gun? What's that? No, I mean the juicy stuff. Like how he's the first person to ever escape from Azkaban?"

"What's Azkaban?" Colin inquires.

Seth pantomimes slapping himself on the forehead. "It's a fortress of doom and gloom—actually, Michael, you explain it."

"It's the most infamous prison in the wizarding world," Michael says, eager to share his knowledge. "The guards are terrifying; nothing ever gets past them. My brothers used to tell me that I would be locked up in there if I misbehaved. Anyway, it's located on an island, and the water is _freezing _there. No one knows how Black manage to escape all this—and survive." His voice drops down an octave, and the last part comes out as barely a whisper.

"Yeah, that's basically it," Seth agrees. "And Black's insane. He murdered, what, twelve, thirteen people in broad daylight? Apparently, he's after Potter now. My mum wouldn't let me visit Jack 'cause of him."

"All Blacks are dark," Michael interjects. "Half Black's family is locked up with him."

Colin listens to all this with wide eyes. If these stories are anything to go by, Black is definitely someone to be afraid of. And Harry—for the first time ever, he feels pity for him.

Seth doesn't seem to notice Colin's fear, and continues on. "He's coming to Hogwarts this year. Everyone says so. And why wouldn't he? I mean, if he can kill_ twelve people, _a few schoolchildren shouldn't be hard."

Colin really doesn't want to hear any more, and luckily for him, Jack barges in at that moment.

"I have food!" He cheers. Then, he looks around, confused. "Did I miss something?"

o0o0o0o0

They spend the next hour or so munching on the snacks that Jack has brought. He doesn't touch the chocolate frogs, of course, but there are also Bertie Bott's and Jelly Slugs. They hold a contest to see who can eat the most jelly slugs (Surprisingly, Michael wins, though he looks green for a while afterwards.). Colin is dared to close his eyes and drop a handful of Bertie Bott's into his mouth. He gets strawberry, banana, grass, cinnamon, cherry, and a disgusting red-orange one he deduces to be vomit (he spits it out quickly afterwards). For a while, everything is normal, and Colin feels excited again.

Colin looks out the window at the darkening sky, and listens to Seth and Jack's conversation. Time flies by quickly, and before he knows it, the train has screeched to a stop.

Jack stands up and stretches. "Great. We're here. I'm already starving again. Can't wait for that food again—Mum's cooking is absolutely horrendous."

Michael glances up at Jack. "We shouldn't at Hogwarts yet. We still have about half an hour left, and I can't see the Hogsmeade station anywhere. Maybe the train's broken down."

"That's not possible," Colin interjects. "The train was designed with the strongest charms known to wizards, and damage can easily be prepared with a wand."

Seth shrugs. "Maybe the conductor fell asleep or something. Whatever. Hey, is it just me, or is it getting cold in here?"

"I feel it too," Jack says, shivering. "Maybe the heating charms wore off."

Colin wants to correct him and say that that also isn't possible, but he feels cold too, and his teeth are chattering, as if September has suddenly turned into December.

The windows seem to have turned to ice, and the compartment door slowly opens. To Colin, it feels as if he is in a horror movie, and his brain is telling him, "Don't look!", but he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the door. A scabbed hand comes into focus, and the temperature drops another five degrees.

Colin isn't prepared for the sight he sees. Well, actually, it isn't as much what he sees as he feels; the despair and anguish, and memories that he never wanted to relive play in his mind.

_They are making fun of him again. Mummy tells him to ignore them, that they are just being children. They are jealous of him, jealous that he is better than them, smarter than them. So why do they laugh at him, and say he's just a stupid little boy?_

_Stop,_ he tells himself firmly. _Don't think about this._

_He hates school. Hates it, especially at moments like this. Ninth Year Warren Hamilton has stolen his camera, and is inspecting it with a look of open distaste on his face._

_"How old is this ruddy thing?" Warren asks._

_Colin opens his mouth to speak, to say that he has always had the camera, and it is special to him, but no words come out._

_"It looks like trash. And you know where trash goes, boy? In the can."_

_Warren flings the camera up, up, into the air, and Colin tries desperately to catch it, but he misses, and—_

_No,_ he tells himself, that _isn't how it happened. _Devdas came along and somehow caught the camera, and told Colin to be more careful. But time is spinning again, and it is oh-so-cold inside the compartment.

_He knows that they aren't allowed outside at night anymore, after the petrification of Mrs. Norris, but this should be an exception—right? All he wants is to get a few pictures to send home to his father, for his father to be proud of him and say "My wonderful son.". It shouldn't be too hard. He just needs a few photos of the never-ending halls and paintings. Maybe he can even use that formula to make the pictures move!_

_He tiptoes down the hall, and comes to a corner. He peeks over it, ready to finally take a picture, and the last thing he sees before his world goes black is a pair of huge eyes, Colin's mouth frozen in a silent scream._

Finally, the world seems to return back to normal. The compartment door is closed again, and Michael, Seth, and Jack look fine, although a bit shaken.

"What was that?" Seth asks. "Everything went all cold, and Creevey, you were shaking reallt badly."

"I think that was a Dementor," Michael says slowly. "They're the ones that guard Azkaban. I read about them once in some book. They looked a lot less scary in the pictures; more like black cloaks than anything else. Why were they on the train?"

"Dementors?" Jack says. "Funny name."

"They aren't very funny in person," Michael frowns. "That was horrible."

"I think," Colin starts, "I think I saw—never mind."

"Are you sure, Colin?" Michael asks. "You can tell us."

Colin shakes his head. What would he say, anyway? _I think I saw myself get petrified, and how are you three today? _

"Really, it's fine," he says, trying to reassure them. Michael still looks worried, but he doesn't push the matter.

The rest of the train ride passes uneventfully, although Seth laughs too hard, as if to make up for the Dementors' terror, and all the Bertie Bott's have spilled on the floor, rendering them unedible (Jack picks one up and eats it, but Colin is admittedly a bit of a germaphobic, so he doesn't touch them.).

In retrospect, Colin really shouldn't have thought that the year could be anywhere near normal.

A/N: How was it? Feedback? I'll try to post another chapter next Wednesday or Sunday.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry I didn't update sooner—my laptop's screen was cracked and so was my iPad's (Hurrah for Black Friday!). Will a long-ish chapter cover it? Dumbledore's speech is taken directly from _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, _U.S. Edition, Pages 91 and 92.

When the train finally arrives at Hogsmeade Station, there is a great hurry to get outside; Colin can only assume that like him, everyone is eager to forget the Dementors and the disastrous train ride. He briefly spots Harry in the crowd, but he doesn't have time to say hello. Harry looks barely any different from last year, aside from a green tinge to his face.

Hagrid's voice booms "Firs' years this way!", and Colin smiles, although he knows there is no way the giant man can distinguish him from any other student (He hears Hagrid say hello to what he can only assume to be Harry, Ron, and Hermione, though.).

Colin follows everyone else along the wide train platform, and climbs into a horseless carriage along with Michael, Jack, and Seth. Thankfully, unlike the boats of last year, the carriage is dry, if a bit musty. He sees the crowd of incoming First Years through the window, and wonders if he was that small last year,hoping that he hadn't looked _that_ terrified.

Seth yawns, and leans back against the hard bench. "I'm exhausted," he says. "It must be, what, nine now?"

Michael checks his watch. "No, it isn't quite that late yet," he replies. "Besides, we still have to have dinner. And there are announcements. I bet we have a new Defense professor. Lockhart can't exactly teach anymore; I heard he's in St. Mungo's now."

"Hope he actually has a brain this time," Jack says. "I think I would have failed exams if we had had them."

"He wasn't that bad," Colin says defensively. Professor Lockhart had been quite kind to him, and even gave him a few tips on how to take a picture from the best possible angle (which surprisingly worked).

"Come on, Creevey," Seth argues. "Lockhart didn't teach us anything. I mean, his class was good for a nap, but not much else. You don't have to stick up for him. He only liked you because you were also obsessed with Potter."

Colin really isn't in the mood to get into a fight with Seth—only now does he realize how hungry he is, and he feels almost drained from the events of the day. "So he wasn't very good at teaching us stuff. At least he isn't like Snape."

"Ugh," Jack shudders. "Did you know he almost gave me detention last year for, and I quote, 'reading aloud the ingredients too loudly'?"

Michael and Seth voice their agreement, and Colin breathes a small sigh of relief, having successfully avoided a potential conflict with Seth. The carriage is slowly driven by the (Colin assumes) invisible horses towards a pair of huge iron gates, which are unfortunately guarded by the dementors, which look almost like black cloaks from a distance.

This time, he makes sure to keep his eyes on the ground, not looking up at the dementors. Still, he feels an almost imperceptible shiver pass over his body. The horses also seem to be eager to get away from the dementors, as their carriage picks up speed. A few minutes later, the carriage stops, and Jack is telling him to "Hurry up, Creevey, I'm starving."

Colin jumps off, and has to walk quickly to catch up with everyone else. The enormous crowd going up the steps into the castle carries him all the way into the entrance hall. He walks—no, practically runs—into the open door leading to the Great Hall, and looks up at the enchanted ceiling, which is dark and almost gloomy tonight, unlike its usual spread of stars.

He sits down at the Gryffindor table next to Michael and Ginny Weasley, who looks healthier and happier than last year. She has more freckles, too, and is wearing a pair of exotic-looking earrings. Colin doesn't know her that well, but she seems quieter and less rambunctious than her brothers, and she was partners with him a few times in Potions.

When she sees him, her face flushes unexpectedly. "Colin!" She stammers, looking nervous. "Hello!"

He isn't sure what he did to make her uncomfortable; maybe he has something stuck in his teeth that everyone else can see but him, or perhaps a giant booger is hanging from his nose (it isn't as if that hasn't happened to him before).

"Do I have something on my face?" He asks. If anything, this question seems to fluster her even more.

"No, no, not at all! Your face is perfect—I mean, it's clean, not like you're handsome or anything. Not that you aren't! You have really nice, um, hair." She adds the last part quickly, and looks as if she wants to be anywhere but next to him.

"I can switch seats if you want me to," Colin tells her.

"No!" She protests. "I like sitting next to you. Wait, did that come out right?" She mimes slamming her head into the table. "Bugger," she says. "I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"It's fine," Colin reassures her. "Everyone's bound to feel nervous on the first day."

Ginny bites her lip. "No, it isn't that. I just want this year to be normal, and I'm already screwing it up. Last year, there was the whole Chamber thing, and now Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. And no one will tell me anything about him, like I'm just some little girl who needs to be shielded from the dangers of the world." She snorts. "I bet I've been through more than Fred and George combined!"

She lets out a huge breath after confessing this. "I'm sorry, Colin," she says. "I didn't mean to force you to listen to my rant."

"It's fine," he replies. Somehow, Colin has forgotten that he was not the only victim of the Chamber of Secrets. He was only petrified, and according to rumors, she was actually taken down to the Chamber. Of course, he doesn't know much more beyond that, but if just being petrified was enough to give him nightmares for a week—

"I'm sorry about the Chamber," he says to Ginny. "It must have been horrible for you. But you don't have to think about it anymore. And it's not like you opened it or something, right?"

She gives him a weak smile. "Yeah."

The hall suddenly goes silent, and Colin realizes the Sorting is about to start. The First Years are clustered in groups, no doubt wondering what house they will be sorted in. Professor McGonagall is missing from the staff table, so it is Professor Flitwick who calls the names of the First Years to come up to be sorted. The Sorting song seems to be a bit better than last year's, although no less cheesy.

"Alton, Pamela!" Professor Flitwick says in a high-pitched voice. A trembling girl who is clutching the front of her robes walks up to the Sorting Hat, and he drops it onto her head. The hat is silent for a few moments, and finally calls out "Ravenclaw!"

There is a great amount of clapping from the blue and silver clad table, and Flitwick gives the girl a wide smile.

"Bloxam, Julian!" After a pause, the hat cries, "Hufflepuff!"

"Cram, Irving!"

"Slytherin!"

"Farley, Bella!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Farley, Jake!"

"Ravenclaw!"

And so it goes. Colin remembers his own sorting, one of the longest last year, though his still seems much shorter than some of the First Years'. "Greengrass, Astoria", looks as if she is about to burst into tears when the hat takes more than two minutes to come to a decision, and actually does cry when the hat calls "Ravenclaw!". The sorting is forced to stop, and only when Professor Flitwick tells her that no, Ravenclaw is no better or worse than Slytherin does she stop crying.

His own sorting was much quicker, and tear-free, too. He had wondered how a hat could tell what his personality was really like, and how it would know he wouldn't lie to it.

_I get someone like you each year, the hat had remarked to him. You think, how a ragged old hat can say where you belong for the next seven years of your life, how you truly are on the inside. Well, I can. And you can't lie. I can hear your thoughts clearly._

_So you're invading my mind?_ Colin had thought.

_No, not really. Let's say I'm visiting it. _

_That doesn't make it any better. _

_Logical. Ravenclaw, maybe? No, you are smart, but…_

The hat had trailed off, and Colin had let his mind drift for a moment. Where did he belong? He wasn't particularly special, besides this whole magic thing.

_Not special? No, I would say you are special. But you could be a Hufflepuff, if you wanted. Peaceful. Loyal. _

_Hufflepuff? That sounds like a name for a fluffy animal._

_Not Hufflepuff…we'll see how you fare in GRYFFINDOR!_

Colin still wasn't sure how the hat had come to that conclusion. He wasn't brave. He hadn't saved someone's life or even helped someone. Really, Ravenclaw would have been better for him—even if he could barely transfigure a mouse into a snuffbox. Still, the hat had said he was in Gryffindor, and it wasn't as if he could change houses now.

Finally, the hat called out "Vane, Romilda!", who promptly became a Gryffindor, and the sorting was over. Professor Flitwick takes away the hat and stool which the hat was placed on, and Professor Dumbledore stands up to give his start of term speech.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore says, looking over his half-moon spectacles at the crowd of students. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…"

Dumbledore continues to talk, warning the crowd of students about the visiting dementors, which he doesn't seem pleased about, either. Colin tunes the headmaster out when he begins to talk about not leaving school premises without permission, and instead wonders about when the feast will actually start and not just be a topic of conversation.

He begins to listen again when Dumbledore introduces the new teachers for the year. Indeed, there is a new Defense teacher, who looks quite shabby and tired, and he hears Jack whisper to Seth, "He could take a few lessons from Lockhart." There is not much applause for him, but he sees a few older Gryffindors clapping hard.

The next appointment is Hagrid, who is the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher, which Colin deduces to be an elective for the upper years. There is more enthusiasm for him, and it takes some time for the applause to die down.

Finally, it is time for the feast to start. Although Colin's mother's cooking was wonderful, there was still no food, in his opinion, that compared to that of Hogwarts'. There is roast beef and chicken, at least three types of potatoes, chips, carrots, peas, and of course the massive spread of desserts. Colin stuffs himself until he feels he is about to burst, and then some.

When the feast is finally over, Colin heads up to the tower along with the rest of the Gryffindors. He takes a few good pictures of the moving staircases and a wonderful one of the Fat Lady, and makes a mental note to develop them with the potion that would make them move.

When he finally climbs into his bed, he falls asleep almost instantly, and for the first time in about four months, doesn't dream.

A/N: Was that okay? Feedback? My next update will probably be on Sunday.


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